


I feel there is just no way out. Is there anyone there?

by emptymasks



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber
Genre: (thats armand), Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon Compliant, Graphic Description of Corpses, Hanging, Heavy Angst, Il Muto, M/M, Murder, Night Terrors, Original Character(s), Pre-Relationship, Pre-Slash, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, ilya is the lead male ballet dancer from phantom 25th, so hes the lead in hannibal and il muto and is at the masqurade, takes place post il muto but before the masqurade, worried about posting this but no one will read it anyway so
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:13:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27017857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emptymasks/pseuds/emptymasks
Summary: "Ladies and gentlemen, the performance will continue in ten minutes' time when the role of the Countess will be sung by Miss Christine Daaé." He was panting, struggling to catch his breath. He must have run all the way down from his box. "In the meantime, ladies and gentlemen, we shall be giving you the ballet from... Act three of tonight's opera!"He could do this. He'd danced the Dance of the Country Nymphs so many times by now. Just put on a smile and convince the audience that everything is fine. Let them have something to enjoy.
Relationships: Armand Dubois/Ilya Kapinos, Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	I feel there is just no way out. Is there anyone there?

It always started in the same haze of green.

Life behind the scenes as the operas were performed were always busy and stressful. Props and set pieces were frantically run up and down stage, shoes sometimes catching and stumbling on the planks of the floor. Members of the costume department stood by anxiously, bouncing on their heels, ready and waiting to help the singers and dancers into their next costumes. At times the lights would catch on the pins and needles held tightly between their teeth, always prepared for any rips or tears.

And that would be all there was too it, if not for the thickness in the air, the shadows that seemed to be making everyone jump, and how the corp de ballet were huddled in a corner, whispering and shuddering.

Ilya was stood off to the side, stretching and going over the steps in his head, counting the beats up to eight and repeating and repeating. Stepping away gracefully from the wall, only to go back to it moments later and support himself against it as he stretched again for the dozenth time.

His hand smoothed over the lapels of the shimmering green jacket that clung to his chest and bounced out almost in a peplum at the moment. At least, that's how Armand had described it. Ilya wasn't fully sure what the word 'peplum' meant. He checked at the tiny stitches Armand had added to his costume just twenty minutes earlier. Two tiny invisible stitches, one on either side of the jacket, attaching it to the shirt underneath. One particular jump in the choreography had been causing the jacket to fly open and lift away from the shirt, and had one time somehow managed to get caught amongst the fabric flowers the decorated the shepherd's crook. Armand had heard about this and despite being one of higher ups in the costume department, responsible for designing some of the costumes, he'd rushed down himself and sewn the jacket down quickly and deftly onto the crisp, white shirt underneath.

He'd gazed down at Armand as he furrowed his brow, tongue darting out to wet the tip of the thread, making it easier to slip through the eye of the needle. And when Armand was done he brushed his hands down Ilya's chest to make sure everything was still sitting right and Ilya couldn't help but shiver at the warmth in his chest.

He'd said how well the green suited Ilya, that it matched his eyes.

Armand then had suddenly pulled back a moment later, pale blue, almost grey, eyes wide, as if he had been caught doing something he shouldn't. He'd wished Ilya a good luck

He was probably burring himself back in some extra work he was making for himself back in his studio.

Often Ilya caught himself watching Armand as he worked, how his fingers moved with such precision. How his long, brown hair would slowly fall out of the ribbon he always kept it tied in throughout the course of a particularly stressful day. When Ilya had found out that Armand used to be a dancer himself, he would watch him more and wonder if that's where the grace in some of his movements came from.

It was that thought his mind was wandering in when he heard the strangest noise coming from the stage. He paused and listened as Carlotta's voice rang out and then broke off into some sort of... croak. Isn't that what the letter had said? Something about Carlotta croaking? Of course the managers had tried to keep the letters a secret, but Carlotta had been moaning about them non-stop, talking the ears off anyone poor passer-by.

Perhaps it was just this 'ghost' putting doubt into her mind. If you believed something was going to happen strongly enough, it just might. Perhaps if she just calmed down.

But then it happened again. And again.

With a flurry of red, the curtains by the side of the stage flew open and Ilya dodged out of the way as Carlotta ran off by him, Piangi trailing after her.

Oh the corp were trembling now.

Ilya went to make his way over to August, one of the few other male dancer in the scene with him, and had just turned to speak when Andre's voice rang out from the stage.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the performance will continue in ten minutes' time when the role of the Countess will be sung by Miss Christine Daaé." He was panting, struggling to catch his breath. He must have run all the way down from his box. "In the meantime, ladies and gentlemen, we shall be giving you the ballet from..."

His voice trailed off as he clearly struggled to remember where the ballet scenes were. Ilya was already crossing back across the stage to retrieve his crook. There was only one logical place this was going. Not that anything about tonight was logical.

"...Act three of tonight's opera!"

The corp were frozen in place, blinking around at each other, before Madam Giry glared at them and suddenly they were tripping over each other to pick up their flower arches and rushing onto the stage.

As the new backdrop fell down, Ilya almost crashed into Andre as he fled the stage. Biting his tongue to fight the urge to waste time apologising, he pranced onto the front centre of the stage.

The corp rose up on pointe as he planted the crook powerfully, but softly onto the stage. The movement had to look as though there was a lot of force behind it, without actually causing the crook to make a sound as it tapped against the floor.

He could do this. He'd danced the Dance of the Country Nymphs so many times by now. Just put on a smile and convince the audience that everything is fine. Let them have something to enjoy.

The steps were easy enough to remember when he'd danced it so many times, but Ilya had no choice but to push any other thoughts from his head as he had to focus on every movement of his body. The angle his feet were pointing out, how pushed back his shoulders were, the outstretching of his fingers.

Smiling wistfully and dreamily as the corp placed their arches around him, before stretching his arms out for Lilith to step into. She'd been improving so much since joining the opera house and Ilya kept meaning to tell her so. His hand glided around her waist, before off they travelled across the stage, him following behind her.

He kept the crook held tight in his hands as he jumped, spinning two and a half times in the air, once, and then twice, then three times. He danced off to the side as the corps twirled around in unison. He... was almost understanding what the ghost meant in a way. The girls weren't in unison, which was odd because they'd been doing just fine in rehearsals.

In fact, watching them closer is was though some of them were actually in unison, but instead of them all moving as one unit, it was though in pairs they were staggering their steps after each other, like a wave rippling through an ocean.

Ilya tried not to stare as he ran back and forth across the stage, covering a lot of ground with a few precise movements before completing the jump that had prompted those extra little stitches to his costume.

Now he just had to turn and hand his crook over to August, before moving to the centre of the stage.

But as he span around on one foot, outstretching his hand for August, he faltered and dropped onto both his feet. The other dancer was only just starting to turn towards him, arm raising up. But as his hand opened up to take the crook the bones snapped and cracked. Ilya could feel as though the audience were thinking he was the one messing up and almost threw the crook into August before turning around to join in unison with the other dancers.

Being stood in this position meant that he couldn't see what the others were doing, which had never been a concern before, but he felt as though their movements weren't matching up.

With a deep breath he let his eyes glance down at the front row of the audience, wanting to see how annoyed they were.

But the seats where empty.

There was no one there.

And yet all of a sudden Ilya could hear them, chattering amongst themselves about how shameful the performance was. What were the corp doing? And what were they thinking promoting that male lead to principal? Where'd they find him anyway? One of those poverty ridden countries to the east. He probably can't even speak French. Well you know what some of those dancers so. Yes, that must be how he got the job.

_Disgusting._

Ilya stumbled back, twisting to the other dancers but he found himself suddenly lost on the stage. He couldn't see the backdrop anymore and when he turned around he couldn't see the edge of the stage.

The chandelier creaked and groaned over head, bouncing light of his dark hair, catching on the shimmer in his jacket, almost blinding him.

He tried to move, but suddenly the corp where all around him, their green skirts clawing and snatching at him and every time he tried to move out of their way there seemed to be even more of them going on and on and on an impossible distance as though they were trees in some dense forest.

Then, as quickly as Ilya found the panic in his chest crushing on his lungs, the dancers were back in formation and he was facing the audience once more.

What was going on?! Was the stress of everything getting to him? He couldn't be blacking out in the middle of a performance. His feet were moving on their own before he'd even decided if he should just run off stage like everyone else had been doing, but as he turned his eyes caught sight of something white moving above the stage.

The glow of the chandelier glistening against something pale and cold, shrouded in black as if quickly made its way down the walkway. Then suddenly, so quickly Ilya wasn't sure what had happened, he could see Buquet in front of this shadowy figure, this... phantom, and he was bending over, hands scrambling at the railing.

Ilya stopped dancing. Reaching up with a shaking arm he pointed at the walkway. He opened his mouth to call out, but there was no sound. He tried again, but while he felt his voice in his throat, he couldn't hear it in his ears. He tried to get the attention of somebody, anybody, but they all seemed to ignore him. His hands made to grab onto one of the dancers, but they slipped through his fingers like water.

He rushed over to each and every dancer, stumbling across the stage, relenting and trying to call out to the audience members, knees sliding and scraping against the edge of the stage as he tried to shout down to them.

But each and every person just turned their head away. And the corp kept on dancing.

There was an awful gasp of breath and Ilya turned to watch in horror as the shadow moved and heaved and pushed.

And he could do nothing put stare as Buquet's body fell of the side of the walkway.

And the sound. The sound that followed.

It was a sound he knew he was never going to be able to scrub out of his brain.

Buquet's neck snapped and Ilya fell to his knees. Transfixed in horror as he watched the body bounce up from the force like a rag doll. It did that for a couple more times before it started to swing back and forth and back and forth.

And Ilya stayed there kneeling. Unable to move. As if he was being hypnotised.

His eyes were seeing details they couldn't possibly be able to see from this distance, but they were being shoved into his vision all the same. The ugly redness around Buquet's neck from where the skin was already been burnt from the rope. The bruises that were flowering along his arms, ugly and purple and pulsing with death. The mouth frozen in a scream as drool ran down his stubble. The eyes were the worst, bulging out of their sockets as if they could explode.

Ilya wanted to turn his head, he needed to turn his head, but he couldn't move. Something was keeping him frozen there. Perhaps he was being hypnotised after all. Perhaps this is what the ghost had wanted all along. Perhaps he had meant to get the whole corp, but ended up with Ilya in his grasp.

He looked across the stage, only able to move his eyes, but it was barren and empty, and growing darker and darker as the chandelier seemed to be fading out. Or perhaps it was being lifted up. Ilya couldn't make sense of it. He couldn't make sense of anything.

It was almost a relief as he saw the lasso pass over his eyes.

He wanted to close his eyes and just wish for it to be over quickly. But he could do nothing but stare as Buquet's body seemed to get closer and closer and closer and closer until he could see his own reflection staring back at him from Buquet's cold, grey eyes... But...

Buquet's eyes were brown.

His stomach lurched as long hair tickled against his face.

"Ilya!"

He was cold.

He was shivering so he must be cold. The grave was cold after all. That made sense.

But it felt as though he heart was breaking out of his chest, pulling at the skin as if trying to turn himself inside out.

And as he blinked his eyes, realising he could blink at all, a pale orange glow crept into the side of his vision.

Something was pressed against his arm and he jerked and jumped as something cold and damp slathered itself against his forehead.

"Ilya, you need to breath. Can you hear me? Can you do that for me? Just follow my breathing, it's easy, I promise."

The voice was soft and coming from somewhere above him. He supposed it couldn't hurt to take its advice.

Shapes and colours seemed to return to the world as he managed to get his breathing under control. And along with those things returning, so did his mind.

He was stretched out on deep red chaise, and he was practically sticking to it.

There were blankets tossed onto the floor, still half tangled up in his legs, which he could just about see from the glow of the oil lamp sat on the table beside his head.

A bead of something trickled down his ear and he shivered and reached up to touch it, hand brushing against the one that was quicker than his sluggish own.

"...Armand?"

"Oh thank god," Armand let out a shaky breath. "I know some people say not to wake someone when they're having a nightmare, but frankly it would be heartless and cruel to leave you in there, I think."

His voice was stained and he was speaking too fast in the way he did when he was anxious.

"Are you...?" He trailed off and thought better of not asking that question, before reaching over to the table. "Here, drink."

He stood up from the where he had been perched on the edge of the chaise so that Ilya could swing his legs around and took the glass of water from Armand's hand. Armand seemed reluctant for Ilya to hold it on his own, but let him all the same, as he back sat down next to him.

"It was just a dream." Armand said after Ilya had drank most of the water and just started staring at the glass.

"But it happened. It happened and I watch it happened and I couldn't-" Ilya cut himself off with a sob. He hated this, he hated looking weak in front of anyone. He'd worked hard to get this far and if rumours started flying around that he wasn't in his right mind then... Well then he'd end up on the streets.

"I know," Armand shuffled closer. "What you saw was... I couldn't imagine seeing that. I... I have no idea what to say to help make your mind any lighter."

"You've already done more than enough. I shouldn't be imposing on your hospitality any longer, what sleep I am giving you? Waking you up in the middle of the night for you to tend to me like a sickly child." Ilya spat out his last sentence.

"But you..." Armand's hand shot out and hovered, before drawing back, and then gaining some confidence. He plucked the glass out of Ilya's hand before putting his own around them. "You are welcome here, always and forever. You're not burdening me in anyway, I want to, that is to say, I'm happy to take care of you. If that's what you need, or want? Because you can't have this happen and wake up on your own. I think you'd just drive yourself insane. And besides," He attempted a weak smile. "You know me, I hardly sleep anyway."

Ilya let out a huff, the closet thing he could muster up to a laugh, blowing at the strand of hair that always fell in his face.

They seemed to lapse into a comfortable silence, Ilya still focusing on his breathing while Armand stroked his thumbs over the backs of Ilya's knuckles until Ilya eventually draw his hands back as Armand yawned.

"You should go back to bed."

"I'm not leaving you on your own, Ilya. Do you even want to try going back to sleep?" Ilya shook his head in response and Armand stood up and sighed.

"Wait," Ilya's hand shot out and grabbed Armand's wrist, far righting than he meant to. Not that he'd known he was going to grab Armand at all. "I... Sorry... I don't want..." Ilya's breathing shuddered. "At the end of the dream... it wasn't Buquet's body that was hanging there anymore..."

Armand looked confused, then seemed to assume something incorrect because when he finally realised Ilya was referring to him his eyebrows curved up in the middle and he seemed to bite the inside of his lip.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said-"

"No, no, it's okay, I..." Armand glanced towards his bedroom and then back at Ilya. "Do you... I don't want this to sound... weird... But do you want, do you think if would help if you weren't alone? You can come sleep in my bed with me? If you want, only if you're comfortable with that. And you don't have to sleep at all, if you can't or don't want to. You can just... lie there or borrow a book, but just... be in the same room as me. And so if you get freaked out, you can just look over and I'll be there. And I'll be fine and alive and breathing. And then maybe you won't be quite as worried?"

Ilya was not awake enough nor in the right frame of mind to be getting hot at the thought of what sharing a bed with Armand would mean, about how close they'd be, about how Armand would look when he was sleeping. So he weakly nodded his head and let Armand fuss over getting his legs untangled from the blankets as he nearly tripped over as he stood up, before guiding him into the bedroom.

Armand slid under the covers and held them open for Ilya, who slowly followed suit but remained sat up. He couldn't bring himself to go back to sleep, could he? This was hardly the first time he'd dreamt about that evening, and he was sure it was not going to be the last. But when he turned and saw Armand's eyes fluttering closed against the pillow, he started sinking down into the mattress.

They both seemed to not know what to do with themselves, Ilya turning away from Armand at first fearing making the other uncomfortable before he found himself laying on his back, head rested to the side facing Armand.

As if sensing that he was being stared at, Armand opening his eyes slowly, glancing down between them before meeting Ilya's gaze. He opened and closed his mouth, wanting to ask something but clearly not knowing what to say.

"Can I touch you?" Ilya decided to break the silence, seeing as it was his fault Armand felt uncomfortable in the first place. "Just... Not much just..."

Something in Armand's demeanour changed. As if seeing Ilya getting anxious somehow made his own anxiety quieter.

"Come here," He stretched out a hand and Ilya blinked away the flash of August's distorted hand from his nightmare, and let Armand guide his head to rest against his collar bone. Ilya shuffled to get more comfortable and Armand seized up for a second.

"Don't, um," Armand's voice almost broke. "Just be careful. Don't move your head down onto my chest I've got some bruising from pressing to hard against the sewing table so..."

Ilya didn't think the sewing tables were that high, but Armand could have gotten a new one he supposed. He hadn't been able to get a good look at what Armand was wearing given the dim light so he couldn't tell if there were any bandages wrapped around him. From what Ilya could tell, he was wearing a nightshirt that was perhaps a few sizes too big for him. But that didn't matter. Why would Armand lie about that? And it was a harmless lie, he supposed.

"Just," Armand softened his voice, raising a hand to comb through Ilya's hair. "Try and get some rest."

Ilya wasn't sure what time he started to realise he was falling asleep again, but he knew it was a fair while after Armand had already succumbed to it. But within the hour, he too fell back into Hypnos' arms. His mind plague free, until morning at least.

**Author's Note:**

> So, if you follow me on Tumblr or Instagram, or you talk to me on Discord, then you know about Armand and Ilya. If you don't and you're confused as to who these guys are and why they're under the Phantom tag, let me explain real quick: 
> 
> Armand is an oc of mine, he works at the opera house in the costume department, he's trans but Ilya doesn't know that yet, and he has a huge massive crush on Ilya. Ilya is a name I have given to the lead male ballet dancer in Phantom, specifically to Sergei Polunin's character in the 25th anniversary concert at the Royal Albert Hall.
> 
> If you want to know more about them, you can see all my art of them and posts about them [here](https://emptymasks.tumblr.com/tagged/armand-dubois)
> 
> If you have read this then oh my goodness thank you. I love these boys very much, but I am aware that some people don't like fandom ocs (which is fine, you do you, but please don't make fun of those that make them or think they're 'cringey') so I'm a little worried about posting this. I could have just kept this to myself and shared it with people in Discord, but I don't know I just thought it might be nice to post it here.
> 
> There are mentions of a couple of other people's ocs in here! Please give them some love. August belongs to @punk-of-the-opera (tumblr) and Lilith belongs to Kooshey.
> 
> [listened to this as i was writing](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E4l5sXC3Lu0)
> 
> Was really struggling with the title for this one so after about an hour decided on lyrics from 'Voiceless Screaming' by X Japan.
> 
> **EDIT: want to add this here because people have already been talking about it. Yes I know about what Polunin is like as a person, no I don't agree with his beliefs. If you want to see my entire thoughts on this please read[this post](https://emptymasks.tumblr.com/post/631788919694983168/sorry-to-break-it-to-you-but-sergei-polunins)**


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